


There is Hope in the Unsaid

by A_Writing_Pen



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Fenhawke Week 2016, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Writing_Pen/pseuds/A_Writing_Pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hawke was used to thinking on his feet, so the game was hardly a challenge, but for Fenris, the issue wasn’t thinking of answers, it was choosing what should or should not be said."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is Hope in the Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indecisivegaymer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisivegaymer/gifts).



> And here is where I sneak my Fenhawke Secret Santa gift into Fenhawke week (It kinda, sorta fits the “Hope” prompt, right?). 
> 
> Thank you to the patient indecisivegaymer who this drabble is for. I joined Fenhawke Secret Santa late so I hope the wait wasn’t too long.

“Red”

Your favor that I lost in the battle at the gallows. Blood. Varania.

“Your face paint.” Fenris said, his answer met with a hearty laugh, wide mouthed as if it amplified the sound somehow. Unconsciously, he scratched his nose near the red swatch that was his trademark.

“Maybe that one was too obvious. Your turn.”

It was a game they had taken to playing on and off as they traveled through the more isolated parts of the Anderfells, where they could walk for days and not encounter another person, preferred for those on the run, but it also made the journey rather boring. The game was simple; one would propose a word and the other would have to say the first thought that came to mind, then alternate. If one of them took too long to answer, he lost the round and would have to pay a penalty of the other’s choosing. So far Fenris had lost twice and had to take the first watch of the night, while Hawke had yet to lose a single round. The game wasn’t complicated and there were few rules to go by, but Hawke clearly enjoyed showing off his wit through inventive, if not humorous, responses as quickly as possible. He was used to thinking on his feet, so the game was hardly a challenge, but for Fenris, the issue wasn’t thinking of answers, it was choosing what should or should not be said.

“Bianca.” Fenris said.

“Dwarves with attachment issues.” Hawke said before he even took his next step.

“Funny.”

“I do try.”

They went a few more rounds, neither of them lost a round. Even though they were keeping good pace, they still had another three days before the got to the other side and could enter Nevarrra. Once they reached their destination, they would be on the trail of red lyrium smugglers and their dull, but relatively peaceful days on the road would be gone until the next stolen moment.

“Hissera” Fenris said when Hawke reminded him it was his turn.

For once instead of a witty answer, he was met by silence. Hawke bit his lip and ran a hand through his beard, genuinely stumped. The allotted time to respond had passed; Hawke had lost the round.

“I have no idea what that means.” Hawke finally said.

“I didn’t think you would. It’s Qunlat.”

“That’s not fair. You know at least two more languages than me.”

“But it was effective.” Fenris didn’t hide his grin.

Hawke grumbled a bit longer about how his poor, Fereldan born origins didn’t allow him to learn any “interesting” languages, and Fenris ignored the fact that Hawke never seemed inclined to learn any while in Kirkwall. In their small group of friends alone, Hawke had his pick of Elven, Tevene, and Rivani, but he never seemed to care to pick up more than a few curses his friends liked to use on particularly drunken nights at the Hanged Man.

“What does it mean?” Hawke asked, once he had finally finished his faux complaints, to delay whatever penalty Fenris might choose.

Fenris thought of the ease and comfort of the moment, it was almost the same as those too short months after they reunited, before the Chantry explosion forced them to a life on the run. Once they passed through the mountainside and found the smugglers, this peace would be cut short as well, but would be even shorter if he mentioned it.

“It doesn’t matter, it would never suit you anyways.”


End file.
